


Of Flour and Fondant (Alternatively: From Russia With Dough)

by russianred (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/M, Fluff without Plot, I indulge myself with a shitty AU and funny tropes, yes the clint/lucky thing was a joke there's no beastiality in this I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/russianred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was only supposed to be another stop on his delivery route.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Flour and Fondant (Alternatively: From Russia With Dough)

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I found in the depths of an old Pages document and felt like sharing. It's unedited, from two years ago, and utter shit, but I put it out here to have something on my page. It's an overused AU, to be sure, but hey, we all enjoy some fluff every so often. :) Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint does his best to get through the day, and Natalia does the same,

It was supposed to be another ordinary day for Clint Barton and his delivery service.  
He'd been in this business for three months, driving to bakeries and restaurants in the area to deliver supplies in bulk and to help with any odd jobs. It wasn't the greatest gig, but he needed work more than anything to pay for his small apartment. Plus, he had afternoons and evenings to himself, which almost made up for getting up so painfully early.  
It was an lovely Wednesday in May, which meant the usual Wednesday route: Miss Skye's pie shop, then to the Patriot Cafe, a cupcake shop, back to the supplier's warehouse to make it to Maria and Phil's, Extremis nightclub, and the Thai place. Easy-peasy.  
Barton squinted at the list he'd been given that day, noting all the familiar orders as well as...  
Natalia's Pastries.  
Clint kept studying the list as he walked out of the warehouse with Lucky, hot coffee steaming in his hand as he hopped up into the delivery truck.  
"Flour, eggs, sugar, fondant, food coloring, blah, blah... Normal enough," he muttered. "Heck of a lot of it though." With a shrug he tossed the list aside and mentally added the address to the end of his route.  
The run went smoothly as ever, falling into the usual routine. Miss Skye insisted on getting water and a bone for Lucky while Clint fixed her backup oven (his delivery truck was an apple pie heavier when he finished); the scrawny blonde boy and his burly, one-armed companion at the Patriot Cafe helped him unpack and told him to come back later for some cake and coffee; the surly foreigner at the cupcake shop and his friends practically tackled Clint when he came through the back door; Maria, tough as always, carried in everything herself and thanked him cooly; the head of Extremis nightclub shook his hand and invited him for a drink before taking the supplies for his gourmet appetizers; the nervous man at the Thai place made gentle conversation.  
It was barely seven o'clock in the morning, and Clint was running purely on coffee and the anticipation of meeting a new client. Lucky was happily asleep (after eating most of the apple pie and bone), the sun was shining brightly, and the thought of a pastry shop right on the waterfront was enticing.  
The shop wasn't far from the Thai place, and the drive was nice. He found the funky little shop quickly; its front door was right on the bikes-only boardwalk, with a small number of tables and chairs outside the clean white building. There were still coverings over the sign and windows, but otherwise it looked just about ready to open.  
Moments later, Clint and Lucky were standing in front of whom they could only assume was she shop owner.  
She was different than he was expecting somehow - though he couldn't say what he had expected her to look like. The woman had short red hair, one piece of it clipped back from her face jauntily. Behind a pristine white apron, she wore a white crop top and black, high-waisted shorts. She smiled when she saw him, and Lucky yapped happily.  
"Hey there," she said, and her voice was thick with the shadow of an accent. He watched her green eyes size him up, and Lucky barked again.  
Clint was caught off guard for a second, blinking before answering in a rush. "Ah... hey. Hi. I've got your-"  
"-Supplies? Great." she walked right past Clint, toward the delivery truck. Lucky bounded after her, yapping happily and running in between her legs. Clint followed behind, somewhat confused over what to do. Eventually, she leaned against the back of the truck and rubbed the dog happily, Lucky jumping and panting in joy. The woman laughed aloud and looked up at Clint. "What's your name?"  
"Lucky," Clint stated, before realizing his mistake (he may have been studying her eyes instead of focusing on her words). "I - uh, the dog. The dog is Lucky. I'm... I'm Clint. Clint Barton."  
The woman smiled and stood up while Lucky lay down placidly at her feet. "I'm Natalia Romanova. But some find it easier to call me Natasha."  
Clint nodded, a small smile slipping onto his face. They were silent for a moment (Clint definitely was not getting lost in her eyes again) before she motioned back to the pastry shop. "You want to start unpacking stuff? Or -"  
Shaking his head and apologizing, Clint opened up the back, revealing crates, boxes, and bags of next to everything needed to run a bakery - and then some. Natasha smiled widely and started pulling down boxes. Clint did his best to stop her as she turned back toward the shop, but even heavy flower sacks and crates seemed to be light in her arms. Together, they unloaded and organized every sugar, milk, and sweet, Natasha taking the helm and showing him where to put everything. She kept up easy conversation about anything and everything, charming and kind in the best kind of way.

"That was the last one," Clint said easily, shutting the back of the now-empty compartment. Natasha took a deep breath and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, laughing airily.  
"Oh, look at the time!" she said suddenly, catching sight of her watch. "Have I kept you too long?"  
"Don't worry about it. You're my last delivery for today." _And I really wouldn't mind if you weren't_.  
Natasha nodded, pulling her wallet out of her apron pocket. "How much do I owe you?"  
"If you're ordering from the supplier, we just do once a month. You don't owe me anything until June, so I wouldn't -"  
"I actually won't be ordering weekly," Natasha admitted, with a sheepish smile. "I should have come out and say it. This should be enough to get me through a few weeks, if I can stay open that long. Here."  
She motioned to hand him a wad of bills with a smile, but he could tell from her eyes that she was already anticipating the protest rising to his lips.  
"I can't take all that! It's too much, and you're just getting started. Honestly, I shouldn't charge you half of that, miss -"  
Natasha watched with a raised eyebrow as he tripped over his own words. She had the heart to cut in eventually. "My arm's getting tired, Clint. Just take the cash before I leave it for Lucky to find."  
Without much more grumbling, Clint took the money and thanked her cooly.  
Again, they were silent for a second, looking at each other expectantly. A voice in Clint's head was urging him to ask for her number, to give her a compliment, to pat her on the shoulder, even - but it was a if all of his muscles had stopped functioning. She was intimidating for a pastry girl, if only because she was so easily charismatic. Or it was the eyes. There was something foreign about her, even though she probably had been here as long as he had. He couldn't help but admit that she intrigued him.  
"Well," Natasha said, breaking the silence. "Thanks for all your help today. I really needed it, you have no idea..."  
Clint shook his head. "Don't mention it. Thank _you_. And... good luck with your shop."  
Both of them nodded in unison, laughed awkwardly, turned, and left. Lucky was more than reluctant to get back in the truck. But then again, so was Clint.


End file.
